I'll Remember You
by MaverickLover2
Summary: An unfortunate incident leaves Bart Maverick with no idea of who he is – or who any of these people that surround him and claim to be part of his life are. Who to believe, who to trust? And just who is Bart Maverick, anyway?
1. Prologue

Prologue

He'd forgotten just how dark it was at four o'clock in the morning in Little Bend, Texas. And how quiet. The only sound was the 'click-click-click' his boot heels made on the boardwalk as he headed for home. His name was Bart Maverick, and he'd just closed the biggest saloon in town for the night and locked the doors. He didn't work nights anymore; he'd been the General Manager at Maude's for several years and was normally at home and asleep at this time. He had a Floor Manager, Billy Sunday, who worked nights, but Billy had been sick as a dog when Bart sent him home earlier in the evening, and he stayed until closing.

Bart had been a professional poker player most of his adult life – it was only since marrying that he'd stopped drifting from place to place while he made his living playing the game he loved. His love for Doralice Donovan proved stronger than the pull of the cards, and he took over running Maude's for his mother-in-law. He never regretted his decision – the beautiful blonde he'd married was everything he'd ever wanted in a woman and never thought he'd find. He was tired of getting thrown out of towns just because he was a gambler; he played poker honestly, without any of the tricks employed by most of the cardsharps out in the world. Little Bend was his hometown, most of his family was still here, and once he'd decided to marry and stay in one place, it was the logical choice. He and Doralice were still insanely happy, even after four children, and he had no complaints about his life.

Without his knowing it, all that was about to change.


	2. Who Are You?

Chapter 1 – Who Are You?

"Go home, Billy. You're too sick to be here." Bart saw no reason for his Floor Manager to stay at work when the only thing he was capable of doing right now was throwing up. "I'll take care of things tonight."

"I'm sorry, boss. I'll be in tomorrow night."

Bart shook his head. "Not if you're still doin' that. You need to be at home in bed, with Evan soothing your fevered brow." Evan was Billy's wife and owned the bakery down the street.

Once Billy had taken his leave, Bart locked his office door and stopped at the bar on his way out of the saloon. "Willie, I'm goin' home to let Doralice know what's goin' on. I'll be back soon." Willie Beacham was the head bartender at Maude's and a good friend.

"Okay, Bart. I'll still be here when you get back."

That elicited a chuckle and a wave. Bart strode out of the saloon and turned right; it was less than a five-minute walk to his house. When he opened the door he was inundated by children – twin girls, Maude and Isabelle, his firstborn son, Beauregard, and the most recent addition to the family, sweet, shy Breton, named for his brother Bret. After hugs and kisses all around he was finally allowed to greet his wife. The beautiful aqua blue-eyed blonde gave him a 'welcome-home' kiss before he could explain to her that he wasn't staying.

"Billy's sick; really sick. I sent him home, so I'm gonna cover for him. Sorry, baby, but I need somebody out on the floor tonight, and that's gotta be me. I'll see you in the mornin', okay?"

"What are you gonna do about supper?"

"I'll send for somethin'. Don't wait up for me . . . make sure you get your rest."

"You know I'll be awake when you get home. I can't sleep without you anymore." Doralice gave him another kiss, this time on the cheek, and he pulled her in close to give her a real kiss.

"Miss me?"

"You know I will. We all will. Just be careful, Bart." There'd been two or three holdups in town recently, and she was worried about him.

"I'll be fine. Is Lily Mae comin' back tonight?" Lily Mae Connors was the closest thing Bart had to a mother after his own mother died. Besides his older brother Bret, there was Uncle Ben's son Beau; all three thought of themselves as brothers. Bret, Bart and Beau were born within two years of each other. Both of the Maverick matriarchs had died too young, and Lily Mae assumed as much of the 'mother' role as she could. She'd retired when Ben moved to Baton Rouge to be with his son, but Bart had convinced her to come live with Doralice and the babies. This morning she'd gone to Claytonville to visit a friend and had been gone all day.

"She said she'd be home before dark, so I guess the answer is yes."

"Good. I don't want you to be alone tonight."

"I haven't been alone in eight years." The twins were eight years old.

Bart chuckled. "I guess that's true. But I'll feel better knowin' that Lily Mae's here." He gave her another kiss and headed for the door. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she called out as Bart slipped out the front door. He hurried back down the boardwalk and breathed a sigh when he went through the batwing doors.

"Thought you'd be gone longer," Willie told him when he stopped at the bar to pour a cup of coffee.

"I skipped supper," Bart explained. "If you'll go to Sawyer's and pick us both up somethin' to eat, I'll pay for it."

"Sounds good. Can you wait a few minutes? Jimmy should be here soon." Jimmy Short was one of the night bartenders.

"Sure," Bart answered as he pulled out his wallet. "Just get me a sandwich." He picked up his coffee and went back to his office, where he worked on this month's financial reports until he heard Jimmy's voice. Time to stop being General Manager and start being Floor Manager.

Fortunately, it was a peaceful night. No fights, fists or guns, nobody caught cheating and asked to leave, no drunken saddle tramps. The kind of night you want when you're already tired and would rather be at home than walking the floor of a saloon, looking for trouble.

Jimmy Short closed the bar down a little after three o'clock. The only two people still there were him and Bart, and it took them almost an hour to clean up and get things ready for the next day. The two men left together, right before four in the morning, with Bart locking the doors and heading up the boardwalk. Jimmy said 'goodnight' and went in the opposite direction, towards the rooming house he lived in.

Bart hadn't gotten very far when he paused to light a cigar. He took a long draw off the stogie and began his walk again, down the steps and across the alley. He was almost halfway home when something in the alley caught his attention, and instinct told him to pull his gun. Before he could turn his head to see what had drawn his eye, a gun butt came crashing down against the back of his skull. Trying desperately to fight off the pain and stay on his feet, his head felt the weight of the gun as it hit him a second time. This time there was no staying upright and he crashed heavily to the ground, the back of his skull bleeding profusely. The assailant rolled the unconscious man over, reached into his coat pocket for his wallet and removed the money inside, before dropping the now empty wallet in the dirt and disappearing down the alley.

XXXXXXXX

Doralice rolled over in bed and woke with a start. She was alone. Was Bart already up? She hadn't even heard him come to bed. She pulled herself up and grabbed her dressing gown, expecting to find him in the kitchen making coffee. Instead, she found an empty kitchen, with no sign that he'd been home at all.

Something was wrong. This wasn't like her husband; even if he was going to work straight through the next day he would have come home and told her. Without a second thought she hurried back to the bedroom and got dressed, knocking softly on Lily Mae's door. "Lily Mae, are you awake?"

A sleepy voice answered her. "I am, honey. Do you need somethin'?"

She opened the door and stuck her head in. "Bart didn't come home last night. I'm goin' over to Dave Parker's and see what I can find out." Dave was the sheriff in Little Bend, and a lifelong friend of the Mavericks.

"I'm gettin' up. You be careful."

She left Lily's door ajar and went out the front door. The sheriff's office was practically across the street, and Doralice hurried over there. Parker appeared startled when she walked in. "Doralice! What are you doin' out this time of the mornin'?"

"Dave, Bart didn't come home last night. I'm afraid somethin's happened to him."

"Did he work late last night?"

"He was supposed to. Billy was sick and Bart sent him home. But he should have been home by four, at the latest."

"Alright, let me walk you back to the house, then I'll go look for him. He could have just slept in his office, you know."

"No, he told me he'd be home."

Dave took Doralice's arm and guided her out the door and back across the street. "Stay here, now. I'll let you know as soon as I find him."

Parker headed straight for Maude's. As he approached the alley he thought he could see some kind of a large object on the ground. Two more steps and he realized it was a body, and he took off running. Once he got closer he recognized the clothes and knew it was the missing man. Bart was on his back, and a small pool of blood had formed underneath his head. The sheriff checked for a pulse and found one, but not much of one. He jumped up and ran for Simon Petry's office, knowing that the doctor was usually at work this time of the morning. He was right, the front door was already unlocked. "Doc! Doc Petry! It's Dave Parker. We got an injured man!"

Within a minute Simon was out front. "Who is it and what happened?"

"It's Bart Maverick, and it looks like he was held-up."

"Conscious?"

"No."

The two men sprinted up the street. Bart hadn't moved, and Simon wasn't pleased with the pool of blood his head rested in. Head wounds usually bled a lot, and Bart's were always worse than most, but Simon was disturbed by the amount he found. "We gotta get him to my office, Dave. You grab his feet and I'll get his shoulders. On three. One, Two, Three." They lifted him without too much trouble and in less than three minutes had laid him gently on the exam table. He was still unconscious.

"Do you need me for anything?" the sheriff asked.

"No," the doctor answered.

"Then I'm goin' to get Doralice. We'll be back."

Dave went back out the way they'd come in and hurried up the street. Just as he reached to knock on the Maverick's door, it was pulled open by Doralice. "Where is he?"

"He's at Doc Petry's. "

She didn't wait for anymore, just stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. "He's alive." It wasn't a question, rather a statement of fact. He wouldn't be at the doctor's office if he was dead.

They both ran, with the woman getting to Simon's office first. She went in and straight back to the exam room, where she found her husband still unconscious. Simon was almost finished bandaging Bart's head; Doralice did her best to stifle a sob as she ran her fingers tenderly down her husband's cheek. "How bad was it, Simon?"

The doctor sighed. "I took nine stitches in one spot and seven in another. Somebody wanted to hurt him, Doralice, not just knock him out. He lost quite a bit of blood before Dave found him."

"Has he been awake yet?"

"No. Not yet."

Her voice wasn't much beyond a whisper. "Bart, honey, it's me. Wake up, please. You just have to be alright." She glanced up at Simon. "Where did you find him?"

"Dave found him, in the alley on Main Street."

"On his way home."

"Probably."

"Simon, shouldn't he be awake by now?" Doralice was worried; if he was on his way home at normal closing time and he'd been assaulted halfway there, he'd been unconscious for two or more hours.

"Probably. But you just never know with him. He's had too many of these to be certain of anything."

Doralice held his hand in hers and refused to let go. They both heard the front door open, and in just a minute the sheriff was in the room with them. "Anything, yet?" Dave asked the doctor.

"No, not yet. I stopped the bleeding and stitched him up, but that's all so far."

Parker rested his hand on Doralice's shoulder. "I found his wallet. It looks like that's what they were after; the wallet's empty."

The blonde head shook with anger. "They didn't have to try and kill him to steal his money." Tears formed in her eyes but she refused to let them spill. There was a low moan from the man on the table, and Doralice clenched his hand tighter. "Bart, honey, wake up now. I'm here, but we need you to wake up."

Eyelashes fluttered, and another moan of pain was heard. Gradually the brown eyes opened, and he slowly shifted his gaze from the doctor to his wife. She kissed his fingertips and smiled at him. "There he is. I'm so glad you're back with us."

He studied the woman holding his hand for a minute or more while she continued to smile at him. Finally, he looked her square in the eyes and quietly asked, "Who are you?"


	3. He's Still Bart Maverick

Chapter 2 – He's Still Bart Maverick

"Don't joke like that, handsome. Simon had to take a lot of stitches in that hard head of yours." Doralice was still smiling as she gently chastised him.

"Let's try somethin'. . . different. Where am . . . I?"

"You should know what this place looks like by now. You're in Simon's exam room."

"Who's Simon?"

"That's enough, Bart. It isn't funny anymore," Doralice insisted, becoming mildly disturbed by his kidding around.

That's when Simon interrupted her. "Doralice, I'm not sure he's kidding." He turned his attention to the injured man. "Do you know your name?"

"Sure . . . it's . . . uh, it's . . . um . . ."

"Do you know anything else you can tell us? Where you live, where you're from, what you do for a living?"

"I . . . uh . . . just . . . I can't . . . where am I?" There was anger and frustration in the brown eyes as he pleaded for any kind of an answer to his question. He tried to roll sideways and the pain in the back of his head stopped him. He shifted his gaze from Simon back to Doralice. "What happened to me? Why do I hurt? It feels like . . . somebody bashed my head in."

She still had hold of his hand, but now there were tears standing in her eyes. "They did – or they tried to. You were hit from behind . . . twice. Simon took sixteen stitches between the two cuts. Simon is the doctor."

"Robbery or orneriness?"

"Robbery."

"Why? What did I have that somebody else wanted? WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER?"

Doralice reached up and brushed the hair from his eyes. "Shhhh. Yelling won't do you any good. I can't give you an answer."

"Then who can?" He turned his head back towards Simon. "Doctor? What happened to me? Why am I here? When am I gonna know who I am?"

"You took two good blows to the head. It's not unusual for you to be confused and not fully aware of what your name is or where you live. It should come back to you."

"Sooner or later?" The injured man asked, almost frantic.

"I've no way of knowing. It could happen in five minutes; it could be days before it comes back to you."

His eyes were hard, but his voice grew softer. Once more he turned towards the woman at his side. "And who are you?"

"Um . . . I'm Doralice."

"Just Doralice?"

She hesitated a moment before answering. "Doralice Maverick." She'd expected some kind of a reaction from him, but the only thing she got was a grim smile. She was beginning to think Simon was correct, and he really didn't know who he was. She swallowed and waited for the next question.

"And what's my name?"

"Uh . . . Bart. Your name is Bart."

"I must have a last name. What is it?"

"Maverick," she squeaked out. "Bart Maverick."

His lips were pursed in a hard line. "Sister?"

She shook her head. "Wife."

"Wife?"

"Wife."

He paused and took a breath; it sounded like he was trying to rein in his anger and frustration. "And what do I do until my memory comes back?"

Simon said nothing, and the answer he got from Doralice was not the one he was expecting. "Come home . . . with me."

XXXXXXXX

It was afternoon before Simon would release his patient. Doralice went home and explained to Lily Mae what had happened; they put their heads together and rearranged bedrooms until they had a place to put the amnesiac. Doralice had to explain to the twins and Beauregard what they were facing, and just why daddy wasn't daddy right now.

"But where did daddy go?" Maudie asked for the third time.

"He didn't go anywhere, Maudie, he's still there. It's just that he doesn't remember anything right now."

"Because he was hurt," Belle stated. She seemed to understand it better than her sister.

"That's right. A bad man hit him and stole his money, and his head got all jumbled around."

"But how could he not remember us?" Maudie just couldn't fathom what her mother was trying to explain to her. "He will when he sees us."

"You can't run to greet him like you normally do. You have to be quiet and polite, and be nice to him. Don't get mad if he doesn't remember things. And don't forget, he's still hurt. Doc Petry had to take lots of stitches in the back of his head, and it's sore. If you've got questions, come ask me or Lily Mae."

Finally, closer to suppertime than lunchtime, the sheriff and the doctor arrived, walking slowly and keeping Bart upright between them. Lily Mae made sure that the children were in the girls' bedroom, occupied with their latest game. Dave and Simon got Bart into the room the ladies had prepared for him, got him out of his clothes and into bed.

Doralice met Parker right outside the bedroom door. "He really don't remember, Doralice. He's got no clue about you or the kids or Maude's. You be real careful and send for me if you need anything. I went down to the saloon and your mother was there – I told her everything and she's gonna take over for right now. And I'll do what I can to find whoever attacked him."

"Thanks, Dave. I have the feelin' I'm gonna need all the help I can get."

The sheriff tipped his hat and left; Simon took his place. "He should sleep for a good while . . . I gave him laudanum for the pain. Here's the rest of the bottle. Make sure he takes it. Those wounds have to be painful."

"What about his loss of memory, Simon? Will it all come back to him? I need my husband back."

"I'm sure it will, Doralice. I just can't tell you when. Don't push him; it won't do anything but frustrate him when he can't meet your expectations. Did you talk to the kids?"

"I tried. I'm sure Beau doesn't understand, and Maudie believes her daddy's memory will come back as soon as he sees them. Belle just accepted it without question. I have no idea what's gonna happen, Simon."

"One step at a time, Doralice. I'll come by tomorrow night and check on the stitches. Keep him in bed through then, give those stitches a chance to take hold. He doesn't need to break them open and start the bleeding all over again." He paused and gave her a stern look. "You sure you want to do it this way?"

Doralice shook her head; unnoticed tears stood in her eyes. "What else am I gonna do, Simon? Send him to the hotel? Put him out on the street? He's still Bart Maverick, whether he remembers it or not, and he's my husband and the father of our children. I have to take care of him."

The doctor let out a long sigh. "Yes, I know you do. Still, watch your back. Whoever robbed him and did this to him is still out there."

"Let's just hope they got what they were after and won't be back."


	4. King Arthur

Chapter 3 – King Arthur

The man in the bed opened his eyes and found a pair of black orbs staring back at him. The child they belonged to was only visible from the nose up, gazing at him over the edge of the bed. Bart wasn't sure how to react; he had no earthly idea just who this was watching him. He waited for something to be said, but the child didn't make a sound. Finally, in desperation, the amnesiac spoke first. "Hello."

"Do you know who I am?" The voice attached to the inquisitive black eyes asked.

"No. Should I?"

There was some small hesitation in the answer. "One should always know one's own children."

The woman he knew as Doralice appeared in the doorway. "Beauregard, what did I tell you?"

"Not to run to greet him, be quiet and polite, and be nice." The child even used the same tone of voice his mother had used.

She sighed in exasperation. "Then what are you doing in here?"

"You didn't tell me not to look at him." He sat up straight and watched his mother. "He looks just like Pa." He turned his head back to the man in the bed. "You look just like Pa."

"I look . . . like . . . " He glanced at the woman in the doorway. "His father?"

"Beauregard – out, now."

The boy stood, took one last look at the man, and left the room. Doralice closed the bedroom door behind him and came to sit in the chair at the bedside. "I'm sorry that he woke you."

"He didn't. His name is Beauregard?"

She nodded. "He's your . . . Bart's son. He's four years old."

"Is he your first?"

"No. We have four children altogether."

"F-f-f-f-four?"

"Yes. Maudie and Belle, twin girls that are six years old, going on seven; Beauregard, who's four, and Breton, not quite two."

"And they're all . . ."

"Bart's, yes, they all belong to you."

The man in the bed blew out a breath. "Oh, my."

"I know it's a lot to ask, but I think they all need to see you, or we'll have a repeat of what just happened."

"Right now?" There was a note of panic in the question.

"Would you like coffee first?" She almost laughed. It was just like Bart to need coffee before anything else.

"Could I, please?"

"How does your head feel this morning? Does it still hurt?"

Bart waited to answer her until she'd returned with a cup of coffee. "It's sore, but not as bad as yesterday."

"Simon wants you to take the laudanum until this evening. Do you want it before the coffee?"

"Do I have to?"

She nodded. "Yes, that's why he left it. Laudanum first?"

He made a face but accepted the small bottle when she handed it to him. He took two big swallows and gave it back to her, quickly taking a sip of coffee and then making a face. "Tastes awful."

"I know it does, but he wants you to rest so that the stitches will hold. Do you feel like breakfast? I have scrambled eggs and biscuits. The eggs are fresh, we keep chickens out back."

"Yes, ma'am. Please. But just one biscuit."

Doralice grinned and shook her head. Some things never changed, and appetite appeared to be one of them. In just a few minutes she was back with a plate and the coffee pot. She handed the plate to her patient and filled the coffee cup that was sitting on the chair next to the bed. When she returned the next time, she brought Lily Mae with her. "Bart, this is Lily Mae. She's our dear friend, as well as our housekeeper and cook. You've known her since you were five years old. She practically raised you and your brother."

"Mr. B." Tears stood in Lily Mae's eyes; the idea that she'd known this man his entire life and he didn't have a clue who she was broke her heart.

"Ma'am. What did you call me?"

She sat on the end of the bed and pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders. "Mr. B. I've called you that since you were just a wee lad. You really don't remember?"

"No, ma'am. I'm sorry, I don't." The look on his face was somewhere between sadness and regret, with a little defiance thrown in for good measure. Something about this gentle soul made him wish he had a different answer to give her, and he searched his uncooperative brain desperately for any bit of recognition. There was none, and there was nothing he could do about it. "I wish . . . I wish I did."

She patted his hand tenderly and sighed. "It's alright; it's not your fault. Does your head still hurt?"

"Not as bad as yesterday." Frustration colored his every breath. WHY COULDN'T HE REMEMBER?

"If there's anything you want to know . . . anything I can tell you about. Come talk to me. I'll share what I can."

Lily Mae exhaled slowly and stood, aimed in the direction of the kitchen, when she heard, "Wait!" Turning to face the man in the bed, she expected a question far more complex than the one she got. "Have I really known you my whole life?"

"Just about. You're a good man, Mr. B., with a wonderful family. You and Miss Doralice are happy. You ain't got nothin' to run away from."

"Then why can't I remember any of it?" he murmured, the annoyance evident in his voice. "Tell me somethin' . . . anything . . . tell me how I met the blonde."

"You mean Doralice?"

"Yeah, that's her."

"You went to Mexico and saved her from bein' hung."

"I . . . what? Why were they gonna hang her?"

"She shot her husband in self-defense."

"But why were they gonna hang her?"

"It's a long story. But you went down there and brought her back. Almost got yourself killed, too."

"What was I, some kind of law dog?"

Lily Mae chuckled heartily at the question. "No, not at all. Just a knight in shining armor."

"A knight? You mean like King Arthur?"

"Exactly."

' _How did I know about King Arthur?_ ' he wondered. Before he could ask any more, Doralice was back and Lily Mae was gone. "Well, you've had food, coffee and medicine," the blonde reminded him. "How about I bring in the twins? They're chomping at the bit to see you."

He blew out a breath. "I guess I should. Did you tell them I was hurt and wouldn't recognize them?"

"I did," she nodded. "There's no guarantee they'll remember any of that."

"If you think this is the right thing to do."

"I think this is the only thing we can do." She moved towards the door, and called out "Maudie! Belle! Come here please."

He lay on the bed, blanket pulled up to his chin, and waited in nervous anticipation. He didn't have to wait long.


	5. Daddy

Chapter 4 – Daddy

They were perfect replicas of each other, and miniatures of their mother, except for the eyes. The woman had aqua blue eyes, the twins were liquid brown, just like their father. Their hair was long and blonde, and at the moment they were quiet as church mice. One of them stepped forward and offered her hand to shake. "Good morning. I am Maude, you can call me Maudie. This is my sister Belle." Not knowing what else to do, he accepted her hand and shook it.

"How do you do," he replied.

"Momma said you were hurt."

"She was right. Somebody hit me in the head and knocked all my memories out of it."

"Where did they go?" The one called Belle asked shyly.

"I don't know," he answered.

"But you remember us, don't you, daddy?" Maudie all but begged.

He was torn in two. He had a feeling the child's heart would be broken if he said 'no,' but he had no reason to lie to her. "I'm sorry, I don't. But I wish I did."

It was like a small bomb had gone off. Maudie threw herself at the man in the bed and wrapped her arms around his neck. "No, no, no, no," she wailed. "You have to remember us. We need you!" The tears began to fall and she clung to him, mindless of the stitches and the sore spots on the back of his head.

"Here, Maudie, you stop that right now," Doralice admonished her oldest daughter as she gently pried her away from the man in the bed. As she held on to her seriously unhappy child, Belle stood silently at the bedside. Bart turned his attention to her and was surprised to find her, unlike her sister, quietly watching him.

"You're Belle?" he questioned the child.

"Yes."

He was impressed with how composed the little girl was . . . the exact opposite of her twin. "Your sister was quite upset."

"Yes."

"Why aren't you?"

It took her a minute or two to answer. When she did, it was calm and rational. "Momma says a bad man hit you, and you lost your memories . . . I can't expect you to be daddy until we find them for you."

He nodded his head gently. He felt an affinity for this child, a kinship of sorts that he hadn't felt towards Maudie. "Then it wouldn't be right to call me daddy until I've got my memories back, would it?"

"No, but what can I call you?"

"Why don't you just call me Bart?"

"Hmmm. Bart. That's what momma calls you."

"That's my name, she tells me."

"I spose that'll do." Before he could say anything else she asked him more questions. "Does it still hurt? Shouldn't you be resting?"

"It does hurt a little bit, and you're right. I should be resting. I'll do that when we're finished. Do you want to see where I got hit?"

She nodded her head almost immediately. "Yes, please."

He leaned forward and turned his head so she could see the back of it. Belle looked at the stitched wounds and curled her lip up at the ugly gashes in his skull. "Ugly."

He almost chuckled. This child wasted no time calling things as she saw them. "Is it?"

"Yes."

"Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

She chewed on her bottom lip while she gave the question serious thought. "I don't believe so. Will you talk to Maude again?"

"I suppose so."

"And Beauregard?"

Remembering those black eyes staring at him this morning did make him laugh. "If he wants to."

"Can I come see you again?"

He was utterly taken with this child. "Of course you can."

She stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodbye, Bart."

He watched her walk out of the room and close the door behind her. The laudanum had started to take effect and he slowly drifted off to sleep, but not before thinking what extraordinary children Bart Maverick had.


	6. A Wink and a Kiss

Chapter 5 – A Wink and a Kiss

Simon came by that evening after he closed the medical office to see how the injured man was doing. "Pretty good, I think," Doralice told him and welcomed him inside. "Considering he's been bombarded with children today, and nothing is familiar to him."

"Kids give him a hard time?"

"Maudie did, crying and wailing for her daddy. He and Belle got along well; I was surprised. She was respectful of his predicament, and they agreed she should call him Bart until his memory comes back."

"What about Beauregard?"

Doralice laughed. "Beauregard was Beauregard, as always."

Simon laughed with her. "A formidable opponent, to say the least. How did Bart do with the laudanum?"

"He wasn't happy with it, but he took it and slept most of the day. I have to tell you, Bart without his memory is a far more cooperative patient than Bart with his memory. But I still want my Bart back."

"I thought you might. Let's see how the patient is doing."

The doctor followed Doralice into the bedroom, where they found the injured man sleeping. He hated to disturb Bart but needed him awake and alert to answer questions and complete his examination. The stitches held and the wounds had begun the healing process. "You both should know – I'm pleased with the way everything is progressing. I'm hopeful that one more day in bed will be enough."

"Then what?" Bart asked

"Nothing changes unless you remember who you are," was the answer from Doralice.

"What do I do to make money?"

Simon had a question of his own. "Do you remember how to play poker?"

"Well, yeah. Why?"

"Before you and Doralice married and you settled down, that's the way you made a living."

"Playin' poker? For a living? So I was a gambler, eh?"

Doralice stepped in with clarification. "Not like that. You were a professional poker player. You played cards honestly."

That statement was met with skepticism. "Really? And I made a living playin' like that?"

"Yes, you did. And a good living, too. You and Bret both."

"Who's Bret?"

"Your brother. I'm sure they don't know what happened. Do you want me to send them a wire?"

Doralice nodded. "Please, Simon. Bret's been through this with him before. Maybe he can shed some light helpin' him to remember."

"Slow down there, Mrs. Maverick. You mean to say I've had amnesia before?"

"In a manner of speaking. You were caught in an avalanche that almost killed you. You had no memory and had someone else's identification on you and thought you were that person when you woke up."

Simon and Doralice waited to see if the injured man had any more questions. They didn't have to wait long. "This brother, Bret, he don't live here in town?"

"No, him and his wife live in Claytonville. It's a few hours away. Bret plays poker, too."

A startled look descended on Bart's face. "Does he play honest too?"

"He does."

The doctor spoke up. "I better get home before my wife comes looking for me. Keep an eye on these stitches. If they hold, he can get out of bed this time tomorrow. If they don't hold, send for me. I'll come by if I can."

"I'll walk you out, Simon."

"Goodnight, Bart."

"Thanks, Doc."

The two adults had only been gone a minute when four-year-old Beauregard stumbled in, hand in hand with an even smaller version of himself, two-year-old Breton. Both had black hair and black eyes, and the littlest one watched Bart intently, seemingly fascinated. When they got close enough, Beauregard explained. "Brother wanted to see you for himself. So I brought him."

Breton shook free of his older brother and reached up a hand to touch Bart's face. "Pappy?"

"Yes and no," the man in the bed answered.

Breton patted again. This time it wasn't a question. "Pappy!"

"No sense trying to explain," Beauregard insisted. "He's too little to understand. He just wanted to see that Pappy wasn't dead."

"He looks just like you."

Beauregard nodded. "And I look like my Uncle Bret."

"Like your uncle and not your father? Isn't that odd?"

"Uncle looks just like Pawpaw." He looked down at his little brother, who had lost interest and was pulling on his hand to leave NOW! He turned loose of Breton's hand, and the littlest Maverick went running from the room.

"And Pawpaw is still alive?"

"Oh yes. I am named for PawPaw. It's a fine name."

"Why no Bart Junior?"

"Uncle has a Bart."

The man in the bed chuckled. "And who does he look like?"

"Like Uncle."

"Doesn't anybody look like your Pappy?"

"You do."

Doralice returned and asked, "What are you two talking about?"

"Uncle Bret." Beauregard decided there was nothing more to say and followed Breton out of the room.

Doralice waited for an answer from Bart, but none was forthcoming. "You were talking about your brother with a four-year-old?"

"He's not a typical four-year-old."

"No, he's not at that. Look, you slept thru supper. I have beef stew and cornbread. Do you want some?"

"Yes, please." He had more questions about this brother of his, but Doralice didn't give him time to ask them.

"I'm going to get your food. I'll be back." She turned abruptly and disappeared, and when she came back she carried a tray that held his supper.

"It smells good. Would you stay while I eat?"

"Alright. Why don't you take the laudanum before you eat?"

"You're determined that I drink that foul-tasting stuff, aren't you?"

"Simon said you needed it."

"Will he send a wire to my brother?"

"He said he would. Are you anxious to meet Bret?"

"I am. I'm curious about him. I've got questions for him. And I wanna know more about this 'honest gambler' business."

"I'm sure he'll come as soon as he gets the wire." She turned her attention to his plate; he'd only eaten about half of what she'd given him. "You didn't eat much."

She was encouraged to see a trace of a smile appear on his face. "Hard to work up an appetite when all you do is sleep. Speaking of sleep, are you gonna bring the twins back in here?"

"Do you want to see them before they go to bed?"

"I'd like . . . I'd like to see Belle."

"You can't visit with one and not the other."

He knew she was right. "Alright. Both of them."

A few short minutes later the girls were back; Maudie sat on the bed and Belle on the chair next to him. It was funny, but he knew immediately which girl was which. There was something calm and composed about the child in the chair; he knew instinctively that was Belle. Maudie watched him anxiously from the bed, her eyes darting back and forth across his face, looking for some kind of recognition.

"I wanted to tell you both goodnight."

"Do you . . . do you remember . . . are you Daddy yet?" Maude asked anxiously.

"No," Belle spoke up. "He's not. He's still Bart."

"Why?"

He took one of Maude's hands in his and felt her tremble. "I don't know, Maude. I just can't remember yet. We have to wait and see what happens."

"But what if you never remember us?"

He gave her hand a squeeze. "I'll remember you."

"Goodnight kiss?"

"Sure."

Maudie leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then whispered, "Goodnight, Daddy." She crawled down off the bed and waited for her sister to do the same.

Belle got down from the chair and smiled at him. "Goodnight, Bart."

"Goodnight, Belle." He watched them walk out of the room hand in hand. When they got to the doorway, Belle glanced back at him and winked, and for one second he had a visual in his head of teaching her to do just that. It was the first memory he'd had since waking up in the doctor's office, and he winked back at her. At last there was hope of something more substantial, but he kept the memory flash to himself. The laudanum was doing its job and he was sleepy, and if he told anyone they might keep him awake for hours, waiting to see if he remembered anything else.

If the memory was real, it would still be there tomorrow morning. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what a grown-up Beauregard would look like, and before he knew it he'd drifted to sleep.


	7. Questions Not Asked

Chapter 6 – Questions Not Asked

It was early afternoon of the next day when Doralice answered the knock on the door to find her brother-in-law standing there. "I knew you'd come."

"How is he? Where is he?" The questions were asked in quick succession and sounded like a frantic brother had asked them.

"Come sit down so I can explain everything." She led Bret over to the settee and they both settled on it. "I have coffee. Do you want some?"

"Sure. That would be good. Is he here, Doralice?"

"He is. He's in the spare bedroom."

"You don't have a spare bedroom."

"We do now."

Doralice got up to get the coffee and Bret followed her into the kitchen. One of the bedroom doors was closed, and he assumed that's where Bart was. "How is he?"

"Physically, he's much better. He worked a double shift three nights ago because Billy was sick, and he was attacked on the way home. Two long gashes – 16 stitches altogether. When he didn't come home I went to the sheriff's, and Parker found him – but he'd been layin' in that alley bleedin' for over two hours. Parker took him to Simon's . . . and he's been here ever since. Simon's comin' by this evening to see how he is – if the stitches have held he can get out of bed. I don't know what I'll do then – I've no place to put him. That's partially why Simon sent you the telegram."

"What's the rest of it?"

"Bart has amnesia. He doesn't remember anything."

"Not again."

"I'm afraid so. He knows everybody in the house, now – he just doesn't remember them."

"How's he gettin' along with everyone?"

"Pretty good, actually. There was a problem with Maudie – but only because she kept insisting he had to remember her right now. He and Belle have an understanding – she calls him Bart, with his blessing, until he remembers her. Beauregard is Beauregard, and Breton is just happy that Daddy's not dead. He doesn't remember you at all, and he can't imagine playing poker for a living and not cheatin'. Oh, and he doesn't understand why all the men in the family look like Pappy, except him."

"Whew, that's quite a list."

"It might be, but he took the laudanum like he was supposed to." A smile accompanied that statement.

"Now, that may be a first."

"He was sleeping the last time I checked. Let me go see if he's awake now or not." Doralice wasn't gone more than two minutes. "Come on in. Your brother is anxious to meet you."

Bret got up from the table and followed her into the 'spare' bedroom. The man in the bed looked the same physically, but there was something about him that was different. There was no bright smile, no dancing eyes, no warm greeting. The face was emotionless, more a stranger's face than anything else. He'd seen that face before, a long time ago, in Arizona, and had prayed that he'd never see it again. But here he was, looking at the man that looked exactly like his brother, but didn't resemble Bart Maverick at all.

"Hello, Brother Bart. I'm Bret." He strode over to the bed and offered a hand to shake. Bart hesitated, then shook it tentatively.

Doralice withdrew from the room, telling the brothers, "I'll be out in the kitchen if you need me for anything."

Bret pulled the chair away from the bed and sat down. "Did ya hafta go and do this again?" he asked teasingly.

"I didn't go and do anything," the injured man replied disdainfully. This was obviously his brother; he looked just like a grown-up version of Beauregard. Black hair, black eyes, tall and muscular, but Bart didn't like the attitude he was getting. Like this was all his fault and he should be profoundly sorry for it. Not having the advantage of knowing each other as well as they really did, each man had totally misread the other.

"Look, I didn't mean to step on your toes," Bret explained. "I'm sure you'd rather not be in this predicament. But you are, so let's see what we can do to fix it."

Bart was still disgruntled. This brother of his made it sound like it was all his fault that he'd been attacked and robbed. And now Bret was gonna come in and make it all better. What arrogance!

Bret sensed they'd gotten off on the wrong foot and did his best to rectify the mistake. "I just wanna help you remember everything. Doralice said you've got some questions to ask me. Let's try those."

"Alright. Why'd you call me Brother Bart?"

"That's easy. We've called each other Brother Bart or Brother Bret our whole lives. It's just somethin' we started as kids in school, and we've done it ever since. Not all the time, mind you, but a lot of the time."

"Mmmmm. Tell me about poker. Mrs. Maverick says we don't cheat. What's up with that?"

"We don't cheat, we play honest. Pappy was one of the best in the land, and he always played honest – that's the way he taught us to play. We know how to cheat, and all the tricks men use, but we don't use 'em. Unless we get cheated on. We're both damn fine poker players, and Pappy is proud of us for it."

Bart's ears perked up. "There's somethin' else I need to know about. Just who is Pappy, anyway?"

That caused gales of laughter, and it took a few minutes for Bret to quit. "That's a complicated question, with a complicated answer. Pappy is one Beauregard Jefferson Maverick, brother to Micah, Bentley, and the late Jessie, and the head of the clan in Texas. Pappy married Momma when he was thirty-two and she was eighteen. Years later I was born, then you followed. Momma died when I was seven and you were five. Pappy did the best he could raisin' us, and when we were old enough, we got drafted by the Johnny Rebs. After the War we started roamin' around the country playin' poker and we kept that up until you fell in love with Doralice and went to work for Maude at the saloon. Your bride says she told you the rest."

"Where does Pappy live?"

"Outside of town, with Uncle Bentley. Bentley has a son named Beau, after Pappy, and the three of us grew up together. We'll go out there, when you can ride, and meet everybody."

"Why don't you live here in town? Or out at this ranch I was told about?"

"We still travel once in a while, and it's easier for us from Claytonville. Is there somethin' botherin' you?"

"No." The answer was too quick, but there was nothing following it.

"You sure? Did I do somethin' wrong?"

"No, you didn't do nothin' wrong. Look, I'm just tired and my head 's hurtin'. Can we finish this later?"

"Sure." Something was wrong, that's for certain. "Do you want me to close the door?"

"Would you, please?" Bret left the room, closing the door behind him as requested. Doralice looked surprised that he'd come out of the bedroom so soon.

"Everything alright?"

The older brother shook his head. "No, but I don't know what's wrong. He complained about bein' tired and his head hurtin', but nothin' else. He acted like . . . he just wanted me gone."

"It's got to be hard on him, don't you think? Not knowin' who you are or who anyone around you is?"

"Yeah, I s'pose. Still . . . "

Doralice changed the subject. "How would you like some lunch? I was just about to fix some for the kids."

"Not real hungry, but I guess I could eat somethin'."

"Good. Sit down. I've got some sun tea for everyone."

"Sounds good. I'll go see Parker and Maude when we're done. And Bart wanted to talk more later. So I'll be around for a while." Bret was determined to find out what was bothering his brother. Besides not remembering anything.

Lunch was pleasant and loud. Three nieces and nephews chattering away at Uncle Bret, with the fourth one sitting quietly, watching every move he made. When it was over and cleanup finished, he kissed his sister-in-law on the cheek and headed over to the sheriff's office. Maybe Dave Parker would have some answers for him.


	8. If It Happens Again

Chapter 7 – If It Happens Again

"Well, as I live and breathe, it's the half of the Maverick family that knows his name. You come over to see Bart?"

"Yeah, Simon sent me a telegram and told me what happened. I figured I better get over here and find out what kind of shape he was in this time."

"This time? You mean this has happened before?"

"Years ago, in Arizona. Remember when we thought he was dead? Took me almost a whole year to find him. At least we know where he is, even if he can't remember us right now. You got any idea who's responsible for this?"

"Maybe," Parker replied. "I'll let you know if I make an arrest. How's he doing? Beauregard driven him crazy yet?"

"Aw, Dave, that ain't fair. Scooter's a good kid, he's just Scooter."

"Scooter, huh?"

"That's what I've always called him."

Bret walked over to the stove and poured a cup of coffee. "You want one?" he asked the sheriff.

"Sure."

He returned with two cups of coffee and set one on the desk; the second one made its way to his lips. "What can you tell me about what happened?"

"First I knew of it was when Doralice came over at almost sunrise and told me Bart hadn't gotten home. I backtracked and found him in the alley, unconscious and bleedin'. Went and got Simon and we took him back to the office. I left him with Doc and went back to the alley lookin' for evidence."

"You find anything?"

"Somethin' that might prove useful, yeah."

"You let me know if you turn up somethin' else, would ya?" Bret finished his coffee and set the cup on Parker's desk.

"If I get anything substantial I will. You stayin' in town?"

"Yeah, for a couple days. Ginny's buried in paperwork, she probably doesn't even know I'm gone. If I ain't at Bart's, I'll be out at Uncle Bentley's."

"Where you goin' now?"

"The saloon."

"Give Maude my best."

Bret headed down the boardwalk. He was amazed at how much Little Bend had expanded over the years, more than doubling the population. Not only that, Main Street was lined with businesses that no one ever expected to see in the Texas town when he was growing up. Maude's had once stood on the corner of a practically empty street; now it was surrounded by stores and shops, with a tobacco store on one side and a gun shop on the other.

Going through the batwing doors, everything was familiar. He'd spent many a night in Maude's, either playing poker or substituting for Bart and walking the floor, watching for cheats. He thought about Bart's current attitude, that he couldn't see poker without cheating, and almost laughed out loud. After everything his brother had done to curb dishonesty in the establishment!

He nodded at Willie behind the bar and pointed at Maude's office. Willie nodded back and kept right on washing bar glasses. Maude's door was open and Bret didn't stand on ceremony, just walked right in. "Hello, Maude."

She looked up with a smile on her face and pointed at the chairs in front of her desk. "Have a seat, Bret. How's Bart today?"

"Seems to be doin' alright."

"Seems to be?"

"You know he's got amnesia?"

"Doralice told me. How long do you think that's gonna last?"

Bret sat back and rubbed his chin. Should he tell Maude the truth? Would she take it calmly or not? Only one way to find out. "This happened once before. Remember, I told you about the time we thought he was dead in Arizona? That lasted a year."

"A year? I sure can't do without him that long."

"But this time he's here with all of us, and we all know who he is. They didn't in Arizona. And I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."

Maude blew out a breath and took a sip of brandy. "I hope so. Billy's back at work, thank God, and I can fill in for a while. But I depend on Bart. He's the son I never had."

"Speaking of which, I'm gonna stay over for a night or two. If Simon releases him, how about if I bring him down tomorrow? See if we can jog his memory?"

The woman in front of him flashed a big smile. "Sounds good to me. Let's hope it works."

"All we can do is try, Maude. I got plenty of places to take him, plenty of things to remind him of. And he wants to know more about Pappy."

A gentle chuckle escaped from the saloon owner. She'd give almost anything to be there when the first meeting happened. "That should be good. I assume you're gonna take Bart out to meet his father."

"Oh, sure. And stand back about fifty yards and let them go at each other. You have a wicked mind, Maude."

"Of course I do. That's why we get along so well. Alright, I have to work. Come down before lunch, would you?"

"I will. Till tomorrow." Bret picked up Maude's right hand and kissed the back of it, and she blushed.

The gambler stopped in the tobacco store and picked up some cigars, then walked back up the boardwalk to Simon Petry's office. Simon and Bret had been best friends growing up and resumed the friendship when Simon returned to Little Bend after medical school. They had a falling out over a woman that Simon ultimately married. Bret held a grudge until Simon saved Bart's life when he was shot during a robbery of the saloon.

"Hey, Bret, how are you? Been a long time." A handshake accompanied the greeting.

"I'm fine, Simon, but our boy's in trouble again."

"He does seem to attract it, doesn't he? This one sure wasn't his fault, but he's the one paying for it."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. How bad is it, really?"

"I was just about to lock up for the day. Come on in my office and we can talk." The door closed and locked, the two men ended up sitting across from each other at Simon's desk. Once they were situated, Simon answered Bret's question. "It was bad, Bret. Two long scalp wounds, deep and bloody. He was unconscious for several hours before Dave found him. And when he finally woke up . . . well, you know."

"And you're more worried than normal because . . ."

"Because this has happened before. Because he's been hit on the head more often than any man should be. And because he doesn't remember anything."

"What can you do?"

"Not much. Once I release him, the best thing is to take him to familiar places and see if you can jog his memory. Other than that, it's just wait and see. But I'm concerned about what might happen in the future, if he's hit in the head again."

"What aren't you tellin' me, Simon?"

Simon hesitated before answering. He hadn't explained his concerns to Doralice, and he hesitated to tell Bret first. But he wasn't about to lie. When he finally spoke, Bret had to strain to hear him. "That if he's injured like this again, it could kill him."


	9. What Now?

Chapter 8 – What Now?

The two men walked to Bart's house, wondering what frame of mind everyone was in by this time of the evening. Doralice opened the door with a smile on her face, and they were both encouraged. "Come in, gentlemen. We just finished supper and I'm happy to report Bart's appetite has improved."

"How's he doing otherwise?" Simon asked.

"I think you'll be pleased. It looks to me like the stitches have held together. I'm sure freeing him from bed will make Bart happy."

"I've never known him to obey your orders before, Simon. What'd you have to do?" Bret was curious; it wasn't like Bart to willingly stay in bed for two whole days.

"Nothing, to be honest. Remember, this isn't really Bart we're talking about. Doralice, can I have a word with you before I examine him?"

They walked into the kitchen and Doralice poured both of them a cup of coffee, then Simon told her what he'd just finished telling Bret. She took it stoically. "How do I keep that from happening, Simon? I can't wrap him up in a blanket to protect him."

"I know, Doralice, but that's the truth of the matter. You have to be aware of it."

Bret knocked on Bart's door and heard a faint "Come in." "It's just me, but Simon's here, too. He's talking to your wife."

The man in the bed grunted at the word 'wife.' "Where were you all afternoon?"

"I had people to see. Maude wants you to come down to the saloon tomorrow, and I thought after that we could take a ride out to see Pappy."

The last remark got Bart's attention. "The infamous Pappy. That should be . . . interesting."

"He'll be glad to see you're in one piece."

"Will he?" Something in the way Bart asked the question made Bret think they were headed for trouble, and he wondered what Bart remembered – or imagined.

"You know somethin' I don't?"

Before Bart could answer, Simon and Doralice appeared in the doorway. "How are you feeling this evening?"

"Like I can't wait to get out of this bed," came the all-too-swift reply.

"Well, let's take a look and see what we can do about that." Simon began his exam, and Bret looked over at Doralice. She appeared calm and steady – maybe Simon hadn't given her the warning after all? Just as Bret was about to say something, a pair of coal black eyes appeared behind his mother's skirt. Bret bent over and held his arms open wide, and in a matter of seconds they were full of Beauregard.

"Hello, Scooter," Bret whispered, and a pair of arms encircled his neck.

"Uncle," was the reply, accompanied by a sigh and a small head being laid on his shoulder.

"Just about time for you to go to bed, isn't it?"

"Not until I see if Daddy's back yet." There was a minor amount of whine in that sentence.

"I don't think so, Scooter. At least not yet."

"Why is he staying away, Uncle?"

"It's not by choice, son. Your daddy's not any happier about it than you are."

"You best put me down, Uncle. The twins sent me in to get information for them, and Maudie has no patience. I can't wait until I'm old enough to ignore her orders."

"Alright, Scooter. There you go," and Bret lowered the child to the ground. Beauregard scampered off as Bret watched him go.

"I'd like you to stay in bed until tomorrow morning," he heard Simon tell Bart. The injured man didn't take it well.

"Why?"

"Let's just say it's a precautionary measure. You'd have to sleep somewhere tonight, anyway; it might as well be here. When Bret comes for you in the morning you can get up and dressed. Just remember, you could be dizzy once you're out of bed."

Bart turned to look at his brother. "Are you my keeper now?"

Bret snorted. "Me? No sir. I told you what I have planned. Then you're on your own."

"And what about you, Mrs. Maverick? What are you expecting from me?"

"Not a thing, Mr. Maverick. Not until I get my husband back. Does that answer your question?" Doralice turned from the doorway and marched back into the kitchen. She didn't seem to like Bart's tone of voice any more than Bret did.

"What is your problem?" Surprisingly, the question came from Simon. "That woman has done nothing but love you and take care of you, and you sound like you can't wait to be rid of her. You're damn lucky to have her." The doctor picked up his instruments and followed Doralice out of the room.

"Well, go ahead. You might as well go with them," Bart directed his remark at Bret, the only one left in the bedroom beside him.

"What's wrong with you? You were ornery earlier today. What's eatin' at you?"

There was hesitation and confusion in his brother's voice. "You wanna know the truth? I'm scared. I don't know who I am, I don't know any of you people, I don't know who to trust. I'm just . . . damned scared. You put yourself in this bed instead of me, and see how you feel."

Bret walked over to the chair by the bed and sat down. He took a good hard look in Bart's eyes, and he could see the fear and the panic, and for the first time considered how it must feel to remember . . . nothing. He reached over and grabbed Bart's right hand in his, and told him quietly, "Trust me. Trust Doralice. We both love you and want what's best for you. Can you do that?"

Slowly, slowly the eyes changed, and Bart nodded carefully. "I can . . . I can try."

"Good. That's all I ask. Now, get a good night's sleep and I'll be here for you in the morning. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

Bret left the room and shut the door behind him. Doralice looked up at him hopefully. "He's scared, Doralice. He doesn't know who to believe and who to trust, and he's lashin' out at all of us. I think I got him calmed down some. He agreed to go with me in the mornin'."

"Thank you." She hugged her brother-in-law, somewhat reassured. "You are stayin' here tonight, aren't you?"

"You're out of bedrooms, darlin'. Or hadn't you noticed?"

"We have a perfectly good sofa I can sleep on." Doralice giggled, thinking about all the times she'd fallen asleep on the settee. "I fit on it, too. That way you can take the bedroom. I'll be up and down with the kids, anyway."

"I don't want to run you out of your bed," Bret protested.

"You're not. And I'd feel better with you here tonight."

Simon had taken his leave while Bret was still in with Bart, and it was just the two of them now. "Alright. I'll stay tonight. But if it's gonna be longer we have to make other arrangements. I'll get up tomorrow when you do. And maybe we can catch a break."


	10. Anticipation

Chapter 9 – Anticipation

Bret was up first the next morning, and he already had a pot of coffee made and ready by the time Doralice stirred on the settee. He brought her a cup and then went to help Bart on his first day out of bed.

He found his brother sitting on the side of the bed, rubbing his head. "Does it still hurt?"

"Some. But not as bad as before. You're up early."

"I made coffee. You want some?"

"Sure would be nice." The attitude seemed to be gone this morning . . . at least most of it seemed gone.

"I'll get you a cup. You been up on your feet yet?"

Bart looked up sheepishly. "Just for a couple minutes. Unsteady at first, but it got better. I guess the doc was right about bein' dizzy when I stood up."

"You gonna be able to ride, or do you want me to take the buggy?"

"I'll ride. Just make sure I've got a decent horse."

Doralice came in with the coffee for Bart. "How you feelin' this mornin'?"

"Pretty good, actually. Ask me that again tonight, and we'll see how I really feel."

Bret laid a hand on Bart's shoulder. "I want you to promise me that if you get tired, you'll tell me. There's no sense in wearin' yourself out the first day.''

"Alright. Are we gonna eat breakfast?"

"I can have breakfast ready in just a few minutes," Doralice told them both. "Eggs, bacon and biscuits. Maude won't be at the saloon for a while yet anyway."

"Sounds good. Mrs. Maverick, uh, Doralice, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Bret left the bedroom, hoping that Bart was going to mend some fences with his wife. By the time Doralice made her way into the kitchen, it appeared that he had.

Maria Elena arrived at her normal time and took charge of the children's breakfast. Meantime, Doralice fixed the promised meal for the adults, and in less than half an hour the little people had been fed, and the adults were sitting down to eat. Breakfast was a quiet meal, with little in the way of small talk going on. Bart asked a trivial question or two, but that was all in the way of conversation.

By the time the meal was finished, the twins had left for school, with Maria Elena escorting them. Beauregard and Breton were playing in the bedroom, and the brothers were drinking coffee at the kitchen table. Finally Bret looked at his watch and decided it was time to go. "Be careful, please," Doralice reminded them as they left for the saloon. Bret took it slow, there was no sense in hurrying. When Bart walked through the batwing doors he looked around; Bret watched him for any sign of recognition. There was none. Willie was already behind the bar and Evan Sunday was busy delivering the morning's supply of sweet rolls. The amnesiac perked up when he caught the smell of the pastries. "I know that smell. She delivers them every morning."

Bret nodded. "You're right. She does. Is that your first memory?"

"Not exactly." A gentle shake of the head accompanied the statement.

Bret looked at him quizzically. "What does that mean?"

"It means . . . there's one or two little things I've remembered. But nothing of any significance."

Bret knocked on Maude's door, and he heard another 'Come in,' his second of the morning. Pushing the door wide, he ushered Bart in first, then followed. "Good morning, Maude."

"Morning, Bret. Morning, Bart. Good to see you up and about. Please, have a seat, boys."

"You're my mother-in-law?"

"Yes, I am. Is there somethin' wrong with that?"

Bart blinked once or twice, trying to figure out how to say exactly what he meant. "You're . . . too young. Way too young."

Maude let loose with that delicious laugh she had. "You ain't the first to tell me that, son, and it ain't the first time you've said it."

Bart chuckled. "Glad to know I had eyes before."

Maude was still laughing. "Why do you think all them babies you got are so beautiful?"

All three of them laughed until they couldn't laugh anymore. Maude finally got herself under control and continued. "You sound good, you look good. How do you feel?"

"Better than I did. I just want to remember . . . everything I don't."

"You have to give it time, Bart," Bret reminded him.

"I don't want to give it time."

"Now that sounds like the Bart Maverick I know," Maude remarked.

"Me, too," his brother pitched in.

"So I take it I have no patience," the younger man stated.

"That . . . would be putting it mildly," Bret said bluntly.

"How did y'all manage to put up with me?"

"You have a lot of outstanding qualities, Bart. It wasn't difficult to 'put up' with you." Maude sounded sincere; whether she was or not was anybody's guess. "And I want you back at work as soon as you feel up to it."

"But what if I can't remember how everything works?"

"You're a bright man; you've been doin' this for a long time. You'll figure it out." Bart sighed. He certainly hoped he would. "I'm not the only one that believes in you. Doralice is pretty well set on your sterling qualities, too."

"She's prejudiced."

"I just want to make sure that you'll come back to Maude's."

Bart was trying to be honest, and fair. "I can't make any decisions right now."

Maude took another swallow of brandy. "I guess I can't be upset with you for not wantin' to commit to somethin' you don't remember. Will you at least think about it?"

"I can do that. Do you have any objections to me playin' poker in the saloon?"

The owner shook her head. "As long as you don't win the place out from under me," and once more she laughed.

The brothers looked at each other, and Bret stood. "We need to go, Maude. We're on our way to see Pappy."

"Oh dear lord, that should be interesting. Just remember, Bart, he is your father, and he does love you."

"I'll keep that in mind, Maude. And thanks." Bart tipped his hat and followed his brother out of the boss's office. Maude seemed like a nice enough person, and he understood where Doralice got her good looks. He must have been a decent employee; she wanted him back at work.

It sounded like this meeting with his father was going to be . . . he couldn't find a word to describe it. He'd just have to wait and see.


	11. The Biggest Fool

Chapter 10 – The Biggest Fool

The brothers rode out to Uncle Bentley's at about the same pace that they'd walked to the saloon. Bart's head wasn't hurting as bad as he'd expected it to, but he didn't mind the slow pace. Truth be told, he wasn't particularly anxious to meet 'Pappy.'

He'd had flashes of memory here and there that he hadn't discussed with his brother or his wife. Most of them involved pappy, and most of them were either unpleasant or unhappy. There seemed to be too many differences of opinion and too many times that they butted heads.

The house was large. Bret had told him earlier that Bentley referred to it as 'the mansion' and the name stuck. "Lily Mae will be here today. She came out to do some cleanin' for them." As promised, they found Lily in the kitchen making a fresh pot of coffee. Her face lit up when she saw Bart, but when there was no recognition from him, she went back to looking despondent.

"How are you, Bart?" He was mildly surprised that she hadn't called him Mr. B, but then that's really not who he was at the moment.

"Better than before, thank you, Lily."

There were footsteps on the stairs, and both men turned to see the man that had to be Pappy. Tall, almost as tall as he was, Bart was surprised to see a man so robust and healthy looking for someone of his advanced age. His hair was silver, but there was still plenty of it, and he looked more weathered than old. The hand he offered in a handshake was strong and firm. There was nothing weak or infirm about this man.

The three men sat down at the kitchen table and Lily Mae poured them all coffee. Pappy drank about half of his before he said anything. "How's your head doin', son?"

"Better than it was a few days ago," Bart replied.

"Do you remember what happened the night you got hurt?"

"No, not really. I just remember a lotta pain."

Bret and Pappy exchanged glances. "You got questions to ask me, boy?"

"I don't . . . I don't know. I've heard so much about you . . . from Doralice and Bret . . . and some of it doesn't match some things circlin' around in my head. Did we get along?"

"Of course we got along. You're my boy, why wouldn't we?"

"Look, I remember some things, some little things, that just make it seem like we were at odds with each other. Is that possible?" Bart was trying to explain the feelings he was getting as best he could.

Bret interrupted, thinking about the days when Bart and Pappy butted heads somethin' fierce. "You used to be. At odds with each other, I mean. There was a lot of misunderstandin' on both sides. But that was a long time ago."

"Are you sure? There was somethin' recently that we argued about. Wasn't there, Pappy?" Bart asked, that aggravated tone beginning to creep back into his voice.

"Nothin' important, Bartley," Pappy answered.

"It's important enough that it's stuck in my head somewhere. What was it?"

Beauregard poured himself another cup of coffee before sitting back down. "If you must know, we had a disagreement about that horse ranch notion you've dreamed up."

"What's he talkin' about, Bart?" Bret asked his brother.

"I can't remember all of it . . . But it had somethin' to do with horses instead of the saloon. Us buildin' a ranch, outside of town, and makin' our livelihood there."

"Damn foolish talk," Beau muttered under his breath, "give up cards for somethin' you know nothin' about."

"I remember parts of it . . . I'd just come back from some town . . . and I started thinkin' about the way townsfolk was treatin' gamblers and saloons that had gamblin'." Bart struggled to try and remember everything. "And I thought . . . I thought maybe it was time to do somethin' else. Horses, instead of cattle, horses. Bret, we talked about it . . . I sorta remember that . . . and you thought maybe sometime in the future." Bart was seeing pictures in his head . . . pictures of him telling Pappy, and being told what a fool he was . . . a ranch required work, real work. He looked across the table at his father. "You told me I wasn't . . . cut out to be nothin' but what I was . . . a gambler. I was so . . . so disappointed . . . and hurt . . . you tellin' me now I imagined it?"

"Pappy?" Bret was waiting for their father to say something. . . anything . . . to exonerate Beauregard from having uttered what he'd just heard.

"Well . . . I wasn't that . . . unfeelin'. But I told you I thought it was a foolish idea . . . to start somethin' like that at this point in your lives . . . and it was gonna involve too much work . . . you asked for my opinion and I gave it to you . . . you just didn't like it."

"You told me . . . I was wrong . . . we shouldn't do it. That's what you said, wasn't it? Wasn't it?"

"Alright, alright, yes . . . that's what I said. And if you wasn't so damn stubborn, you'da heard me and paid attention . . . instead of plottin' and makin' plans to build a ranch. I can just see you two ranchin', and it ain't a pretty picture. I think you're a fool . . . a damn fool. Both of you are." Pappy got up from the table and went out the back door.

Bret sat with the brother that didn't remember him until he finally got up the courage to ask a question. "Is that all? All you remember? What about the plans for the ranch? Your wife, your kids, anything?"

"Sometimes . . . little things. I had . . . I had a horse named Noble at one time, didn't I?"

Bret chuckled quietly. "Yeah, you did. Cantankerous old coot. You'd do almost anything for that horse."

"What happened to him?"

"Old age. Same thing that gets all of us. Uncle Ben found him one mornin', just laid down in his stall and went to sleep. He's buried out behind the barn. You remember anything else?"

"No . . . not really. But I remember the old man tellin' me how stupid I was . . . I ain't stupid, Bret. I may not remember much right now, but I ain't stupid. I gotta get out of here . . . get me outta here."

Pappy came back into the house just as Bret and Bart were leaving. "Where are you goin'?" he called after them as they walked toward the front door.

"Anyplace but here," was Bart's swift reply. He turned to Bret. "I can't stay here . . . with him."

"Come on, I know just the place."

"And don't come back as long as that dang fool notion's still in your head," Pappy's voice followed them to the door.

Once they were outside, Bret swung up on his horse. "You okay?" he asked his brother.

"I will be," came the reply, and Bret headed the horses towards the juniper grove just south of the river. He'd done some of his best thinking there. And that's where he'd hidden the night Bart almost went along with Earnie Night's plan to rob The Providence Club. He was hoping the spot would jog Bart's memories, but as they approached there was no sign of recognition. Bret sighed. What was it going to take to bring his brother back to him?


	12. Black as Night

Chapter 11 – Black as Night

They sat at the river, where they'd done most of their growing up, for the rest of the afternoon. Bret told Bart a lot about their childhood, and their mother, until it was almost dark. Bart soaked it all up like a sponge until both were close to exhaustion. "I guess we better head back to town. Doralice is gonna wonder what happened to us."

"Why is he so dead set against us havin' a horse ranch? Is there any good reason for it that you know?" Bart asked his older brother.

"I know that Pappy and Uncle Ben tried cattle ranchin' when they first came to Texas, and they couldn't make a go of it. But why he doesn't want us tryin' to raise horses, I don't know. Why didn't you tell me you'd remembered some of that stuff?"

"I wasn't sure how you'd react. Hell, I wasn't sure how I was reacting. And I didn't know if any of it was true, or if I'd just imagined it."

"You went to Claytonville before Beauregard was born. I remember when we moved over there, you tellin' me about this breeder you met, Phil Somebody, and how he got you to thinkin' about horses. I didn't know you were that determined, that you'd talked to Pappy about it. Is that all he had to say?"

Bart shrugged his shoulders. "I ain't sure. It's all jumbled up, and I can only remember parts of it. But he was against it, that I'm sure of. What about you? What do you think of it now?"

"I think if it was set up right, and we had the right place, it might be worth lookin' in to."

They got back to Little Bend and stopped at Mamacita's to get a bite to eat, then went on to the Little Bend Bar before heading home. Tony Burke was behind the bar, and Bart followed his brother inside without looking up. Something about the place was familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Tony brought them coffee and Bart stared at the bartender. "Do I know him?" he asked Bret once Tony had returned to the bar.

"Sort of."

"Tell me about the place."

Bret chuckled; that could take a lifetime. "We grew up in this saloon. It's the first place either one of us ever played poker against somebody not named Maverick. You were ten years old, I think. Ray Ames was the bartender for thirty years or more, and he was like an uncle to both of us. We went to school with his daughter. It hasn't been too long since Ray retired and moved up north."

"That's what you meant when you said I sorta know Tony."

"Exactly. Tony was in the bank with Cristian the morning Maude's husband got killed. He's a good enough guy. He just ain't Ray."

"This place sure don't compare to Maude's."

"No, it sure don't. But the LB Bar's been here forever, and it'll probably still be here a hundred years from now. Do you remember a saloon girl named Lolly? If I'm right, you were about seventeen when you met her."

Something connected in Bart's head and he had a picture of a dark-headed girl with blue eyes. "I . . . I do remember her. At least enough to see her. Dark hair, bright blue eyes. Was that her?"

Bret nodded. "Yep, that was Lolly. She worked here for a while before she moved."

"Was she important to me?"

"Yeah, she was. She was the first girl . . . well, she was the first."

"I don't remember . . . but I remember her."

Both coffee cups were empty. It was time to go; it was Bart's first day out of bed since he'd been injured and he was worn out. The brothers took their horses to the livery and then walked back to the house; there were still lights on inside. Doralice was on the settee, sipping tea and having a conversation with her precocious four-year-old, who should have been in bed a long time ago.

"See, Beauregard, there was no need for you to wait up. Your father and uncle are home."

"I wasn't going to leave you alone, Mother. Somebody had to be the man of the house."

"I'm sure you did a fine job, Beauregard. Get in bed and I'll be right in," Bret told his nephew.

"Yes, sir," the little boy responded, kissing his mother on the cheek and heading for the bedroom. Once he was out of sight, Bart spoke up.

"Let me go tuck him in."

"Are you sure?" his mother asked.

"Yep. He's my boy, whether I remember him or not."

"Give him a few minutes. Beauregard takes longer than most to get ready for bed."

Five minutes later Bart surprised his first-born son by appearing in the over-crowded bedroom. "What are you doing here?" the child asked.

"I've come to tuck you in."

"Did your memory come back? Are you daddy again?"

"No, son, not yet. But I'm still your father. And I'd like to tuck you in. Is that alright with you?"

"Oh, yes. That would be most acceptable."

Bart tucked the covers in around his most unusual boy, then leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. "Goodnight, Beauregard."

"Goodnight, Father."

Bart pulled the door closed behind him. His heart ached; he could feel the love Beau had for his daddy, and he wanted to be able to return it. Why wouldn't his memories come back? Why did he just have scattered flashes of things?

He felt a sudden stab of pain in the back of his head and ran his fingers along the stitches. When he pulled his hand away if felt sticky, and he knew without seeing it that it was blood. The stitches must have broken open; evidently he did too much too soon. He took a step away from the kitchen and another shot of pain raced through his head. "Bret . . . " was as far as he got before his knees buckled and he felt himself falling. He hit the ground face first and the world went black.


	13. Lucy and Beauregard

Chapter 12 – Lucy and Beauregard

He was lying on his right side, and the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was her. She was knitting something and looking down at it, and it gave him a chance to look at her. Really look at her. He hadn't realized how beautiful she was until just that moment, and his breath caught at the sight of her. She looked up and right at him, and he felt the full impact of those aqua blue eyes. She saw that he was awake and smiled at him. "Hello, handsome," and as soon as she said it he knew that she'd called him that many times before. "You gonna stay with me for a while?"

"What happened?"

"You broke open some stitches, and they started to bleed. How's your face feel?"

"My face? Why?"

"Because when you collapsed, you fell on it. Simon was afraid you'd broken something."

"Simon was here?"

"He was. Don't you remember?"

"No. You're sure he was here?"

"Positive. Bret was here, too. Do you remember that?"

"Bret? Sure. I spent the day with him."

"He felt guilty when you collapsed. Wanted to go get a hotel room so I could sleep in the bed. I finally convinced him to stay here after all."

"Where . . . ?"

"Where is he? Out back with Lucy."

"Lucy the cat?"

"That's right, Lucy is the cat."

Bart couldn't tell if it was day or night; he had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. "Is it morning?"

"No, actually, it's afternoon. You've been unconscious or asleep since last night."

"No wonder I'm hungry." Bart tried to move his head but pain shot through him like a knife. "What did Simon do?"

Doralice looked up from her knitting. "He had to take new stitches – double stitches, he said, because your scalp just did not want to hold together. He said you could sit up if you wanted to, but no getting out of bed. He'll be back tonight to check everything."

"I didn't do anything I wasn't supposed to," Bart insisted.

"Simon thought it might have been the riding. He wants to make sure you're healed this time before he lets you do anything like that again." She set aside her knitting and smiled. "How about I fix you something to eat? Do you want breakfast or lunch?"

"I don't care. Whatever's easy, as long as it comes with coffee."

"I'll be back soon." As Doralice left the bedroom, Bret walked in holding a brown tabby cat. She wiggled frantically until he set her down on the bed. She crawled up to Bart and snuggled in next to him, purring furiously.

"Obviously she's your cat," his brother remarked as he sat in the recently vacated chair. "Glad to see you're awake. This is my fault – I should have insisted we take the buggy. Sorry."

"Not your fault. It could have happened with the buggy. I was in a big hurry to get out of this bed . . . for all the good it did me." He looked down at the furry brown bundle all curled up next to him. "So you're Lucy, huh?"

'Brrrrrrruuuppp' was the cat's response, startling both brothers. "I guess that's who she is, alright," Bret laughed. "I didn't know one little cat could get that loud."

Bart had a sudden flash of memory. "Yes, you did. Remember her momma, the one that found me on the Trinity River? I named her . . . Melody."

"You remember the Trinity River? What else?"

"Just . . . just that. The river and the cat. It was her meow that did it."

Doralice appeared with coffee for both brothers. Bret helped Bart sit up in bed, and each took a cup. "Lunch will be ready in a minute. Bret, I've fixed you some, too. You didn't eat breakfast."

"Doralice, I don't want . . ."

"I don't care. No arguing with the lady of the house."

"How long are you gonna stay in Little Bend?" Bart queried, in between swallows of coffee.

"A couple more days. Then I've gotta go back. Ginny will be sittin' in the living room, waitin' for me with a shotgun."

"Tell me about your wife and your kids. You haven't said a word about 'em."

"Ginny is the most beautiful redhead . . . "

For the next hour, Bret told his brother everything he could think of about his wife and their two children, Grace and Bartley. Doralice served lunch and Bart listened to every word his brother said, interrupting now and again to ask questions, but nothing sounded in the least familiar. Somewhere during that hour Beauregard got tired of playing with his little brother and slipped into the room, crawling into bed with his father and displacing the cat. "He's an odd child, isn't he?" Bart asked once he'd determined that Beau had fallen asleep.

"Scooter's a good kid," Bret answered.

"Why do you call him Scooter?"

"Before he could walk he used to scoot around the floor on his bottom. Even after he learned to walk, he still scooted around a lot. He's too old for that now, and he's told me to call him Beauregard, but I keep forgettin'. And he's already playin' poker. You should see him shuffle and cut, better even than you and me did at that age. He wants to play professionally, Bart, whether you want him to or not. And you're his hero . . . he wants to be just like you."

"He does?"

"Yes, he does."

They sat for a few minutes in silence, Bart brushing the boy's hair off of his face. Eventually Beau stretched and yawned, and his eyes opened slightly as he looked up at Bart and smiled. "Daddy?"

"I'm here, Beauregard."

The boy closed his eyes and was soon asleep. "You know what he's gonna think, don't you?" Bret questioned.

"Yeah, but that's alright. He just wants his daddy to love him."

"Can you do that without remembering?"

The amnesiac chuckled softly. "I think I already do."


	14. The Worst That Can Happen

Chapter 13 – The Worst That Can Happen

Three days later Simon released Bart to get out of bed, with the provision that he not ride a horse for at least another week. His memory hadn't returned, but little bits and pieces had begun to make their way back into his consciousness. A phrase that sounded familiar, a name that he thought he recognized. Bret wired Ginny that he would be staying in Little Bend a bit longer, and she gave her blessing.

On the fourth morning, the adults were eating a late breakfast when there was a knock at the door. Sheriff Parker had arrived with some news. "I got somebody in jail I'd like you to come down and take a look at, Bart."

"I'm not sure what good it will do, Sheriff. I didn't see the man that hit me."

"There's still somethin' I need you to see. Bret, bring him down, would you?"

The older brother nodded. "We'll be down, Dave. Soon as we finish here."

"You doin' better now, after that second round of stitches that Doc put in?"

Bart nodded slowly. "I think so. They don't seem to be botherin' me anymore."

Doralice got a cup for the sheriff and poured him some coffee. "Stay for a few minutes and have a decent cup, Dave."

"Thanks, Doralice. How much longer you gonna stay, Bret?"

"Well, probably a day or two. Now that Bart's finally on his way to healing, I gotta go home at some point."

"Anybody been down to see Maude recently?" Dave asked.

"I was there yesterday," Doralice responded. "She's hangin' on, but she sure needs Bart back. I need him back, too."

Bart reached over and patted her hand. He desperately wanted his life back, with all that involved. He'd been this way too long, and it was making him a little crazy.

XXXXXXXX

An hour later the brothers Maverick arrived at the jail. One of the cells was occupied by a man that looked vaguely familiar to Bret; he could have sworn that he'd seen the stranger somewhere in Claytonville recently.

Bart took a seat next to Dave's desk and leaned over to ask quietly, "Am I supposed to know this guy?"

"Do you?"

Bart stared at the man in the cell. He was in his early twenties, average height and build, with light brown hair and a mustache. An old and faded scar ran down his left cheek, and his eyes were dark. Nothing about him was familiar. "No. Not that I can identify. Sorry, Dave."

"He had over five hundred dollars on him when I picked him up, and he'd been playin' poker at the LB Bar for a couple days. He had this on him, too, stuffed in his back pocket like he'd put it there and forgotten it. Look familiar?"

Parker handed Bart an old, worn photograph. It was a picture that Bart had carried in his wallet for years, a picture taken of him and Bret in their Confederate uniforms, right after they were drafted. He had no memory of the photo being taken, but it was obvious from the age of the subjects that it was a long time ago. "That's me and Bret," Bart finally acknowledged.

"Do you know where it came from?" Dave asked.

Bart started to say no, but before he could get the word out he could visualize the photo tucked safely in his wallet. He remembered it, as plain as day. "It was in my wallet," he replied.

"Good man," Parker remarked. "That and this," he held up a brown button that appeared to match those on the cowboy's vest, "should be enough to get him convicted. I found this in the alley when I went back to search it after we took you to Doc's office. It belongs to his vest."

"Who is he?"

"Name's Jay West. I don't have a wanted poster on him, but that don't mean nothin'. I got him charged with robbery and attempted murder. Circuit judge will be here in a week, we can hold the trial then."

"Has he confessed?" The question came from Bret.

"No, he hasn't confessed to anything. I'm workin' on it." Parker pulled a report from his desk drawer. "Look this over, I need you to sign it. It identifies the photo as yours and states that it was on your person on the night you were robbed and assaulted."

"Did you just assume that?"

Dave looked kind of sheepish. "Well, yeah, but it was a reasonable assumption. Where else was he gonna get it?"

Bart read over the report and signed the last page. "You need me for anything else?"

The sheriff shook his head. "Not until the trial. And it sure would be nice if your memory came back before then."

"Wouldn't it, though?"

Bret held the door open, and Bart followed him outside. "Cigar?"

Bart nodded. "I would like one, thanks."

Bret lit one and handed it to his brother, then lit another for himself. "Did you recognize the photo?"

"Sort of. I could see it in my wallet, and I knew it was you and me. How old is that?"

Bret laughed before answering. "Old. Real old. You've had it all these years, ever since I 'died' in Dodge City." Bret saw the horrified look his brother was giving him and pleaded, "Don't make me explain it to you. It's too long of a story." Bart nodded and Bret continued, "Pappy had the photo taken the day we got our uniforms."

"Must have been mixed up in the money I had."

"Probably. You got any idea how much you had on you that night?"

"No idea at all." They walked slowly back to the house. Just as they got to the small porch, the front door opened and a four-year-old missile launched himself at his father.

"Daddy!" Beauregard yelled as he came off the porch, feet tripping over the single step. As the child fell, Bart lunged to catch him, and succeeded, in a manner of speaking. Beauregard landed safely in his father's arms, as the side of Bart's head caught the corner of the step. "Daddy! Daddy! Oh, Daddy!" the miniature Maverick wailed, as Bret rushed forward to see what kind of damage had been done. Beauregard was safe and sound, but his father was out cold.


	15. I Remember

Chapter 14 – I Remember

When Beau came flying out of the front door and tripped on the edge of the porch, he'd practically launched himself into his father's arms. Bart plunged forward and caught his son before the child could hit the ground, but smashed his own forehead against the end of the porch in the process. Beauregard was near hysterical when his mother took him inside; Bret picked his brother up and carried him into the bedroom. After the warning Simon had given them the last time Bart was unconscious, Maria Elena went to fetch the doctor.

Twenty minutes later Beauregard was asleep, his mother having calmed him down and persuaded him to let Maria read him a story. Simon had just finished examining the unconscious man and was using smelling salts to try and bring Bart out of his latest stupor. Doralice and Bret stood at the end of the bed, anxiously waiting to see if Simon was successful. After a few minutes Bart began to stir, and finally his eyes fluttered open.

"Bart, can you hear me? It's Simon, can you open your eyes and look at me?" Slowly the man in the bed complied. "Can you focus? Tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"

A groan came from Bart, and he coughed once or twice before murmuring, "Too many."

Bret subdued a laugh; that sounded like something his brother would say. He moved up to the side of the bed and sat in the chair. "Brother Bart, is that you?"

The eyes closed again but the voice was strong. "Who else would it be?"

"Bart, what do you remember?" Simon asked.

"I remember . . . walkin' home from work. Then things . . . get fuzzy. Was I . . . what happened?"

"Do you know where you are?"

"At home, in bed."

Simon suspected that Bart's memory had returned, at least partially if not completely. "Do you remember getting robbed? And hit over the head?"

"Sort of." His eyes opened again and he looked up at Simon. "Is that what happened?"

"A week ago. You woke up with no memory."

Bart looked over at Bret. "None?"

Bret shook his head. "Nope. Just like in Arizona. Only this time you didn't think you were someone else."

"You didn't know who I was," Doralice told him from the foot of the bed.

He held out his hand, and his wife hurried forward to grasp it. "That's a sin against nature. How could I not know who you were?"

"You remembered . . . nothing."

"The kids?"

Doralice shook her head. "Not even the kids. Simon had to stitch your head up twice."

"Wasn't that a little excessive, Simon?" Bart asked with the hint of a smile on his face.

Simon was convincing with his answer. "Nope. You burst the stitches the first time – had blood everywhere. I had to do a double stitch to hold your head together."

"Why am I in bed now? What happened?"

The answer came from Bret. "Beauregard's had a hard time with all the amnesia. We went over to talk to Parker and when we came back he ran out the front door towards you and tripped. If you hadn't caught him . . . let's just say your son would have been seriously hurt."

"Is he alright?"

Doralice squeezed his hand to reassure him. "He was upset, but not hurt. Beau's taking a nap right now. You, however . . . "

"You cracked your head pretty good on the patio. How much do you remember?"

"I remember Beauregard taking a tumble on the porch; it was almost like he threw himself at me. And having the wind knocked out of me when we landed. Are you sure Beau's alright?" He waited to see Doralice nod before continuing. "I didn't hit the same spot, did I?"

"No, you didn't," Simon explained. "You hit the front of your head this time, not the backside. No stitches, just a bad bruise. But it sounds like you remember everything you'd forgotten before."

"The last few days are fuzzy, Simon, but everything else seems to be there." Bart turned his head towards Doralice, whose hand he still held. "Will you see if Beauregard is awake and bring him in? I wanna see him."

"Be right back," she promised.

"Simon, can he sit up?" Bret asked.

"Yes, with some help." The doctor and the brother helped Bart sit up in bed, and that was the position he was in when Doralice came back carrying their four-year-old son.

"Daddy," Beau whispered. His mother set him down on the bed, and Bart gathered the boy into his arms. "Daddy, is it you?"

"Yes, son, it's me. I remember . . . everything, I think."

"Me, too?" a small voice questioned.

"You, especially, buddy." He leaned down and kissed the boy's head, and hugged him tightly to his chest. "I love you, son. Daddy loves you."


	16. Betty Lou

Chapter 15 – Betty Lou

A week later everything had settled down in the Maverick house. Bret returned to Claytonville, and just this morning Bart went back to work at Maude's. The children were getting used to having their father back, as was Doralice, but there was one thing that still wasn't settled – the unpleasantness that existed between Bart and Pappy. Bart waited until Saturday, when he hitched up the buggy and asked Beauregard if he wanted to go visit with pawpaw.

"You have something to discuss with PawPaw?"

Bart nodded. How could a four-year-old be so perceptive? "I do, son."

"And you can do that with me there?"

"I can. There's somethin' your Uncle Bret and me wanna do, and your pawpaw thinks it's foolish."

"Is it, Daddy?" Beau was so serious, Bart almost laughed.

"We don't think so. But PawPaw thinks it is, and I wanna find out why."

"Can the three of us play some poker while we're there?"

"We'll see, Beau. If there's enough time, I think so."

Bart lifted his boy up into the buggy and climbed in after him. In just a few minutes they were off, headed towards Uncle Ben's house.

Beauregard was out of the buggy and in the house in a flash once they'd arrived, where he went running straight to his grandfather. "We come to talk to you, PawPaw."

Beau picked his namesake up and held him at eye level. "You did, eh? And what did you boys come to talk about?"

Beauregard shrugged. "Don't know, but Daddy says it ain't foolish."

Pappy knew exactly what it was about, and put Beau back down on the ground. "Why don't you go on out to the barn – Uncle Ben's got some puppies to show you."

"Oh, boy! Puppies!" And in an instant, the boy was gone.

Pappy took a good, hard look at Bart. He knew exactly what it was about, and he sat at the kitchen table with a glass of sun tea and waited. "Boy says you wanna talk. Bout that horse ranch again?"

"Yeah, Pa, it is. Why are you so dead set against it?"

"First off, where you gonna put it? Somethin' like that needs a lot of land."

Bart hadn't wanted to get into the where, because Pappy wasn't gonna take it well. "I got a spot in mind."

"Where?"

"If you must know, right here. On this very land we're on."

"Bentley might have somethin' to say about that."

Bart nodded. "He did. He said he'd sell it to us when he moves to Baton Rouge." He expected a roar, a tirade, anything but what he got, which was silence. "Did you hear me, Pappy?"

Beauregard set his glass of sun tea down on the table. "I heard ya. That means he's decided to go." His voice sounded more sorrowful than anything.

"Yes, Pappy, Uncle Ben's decided to go to Baton Rouge."

"When?"

"Within the next year."

"Was he gonna tell me?"

"Eventually. He wanted to get everything worked out first."

"And you haven't told me before now . . ."

Bart finished the thought. "Because I didn't remember."

"Where am I supposed to go?"

Hesitation preceded the answer. "We haven't worked that out yet."

' _What am I, an afterthought?'_ "Takes too much money to get somethin' like that started."

"We've got time to put money aside."

"What if you don't like it after you've invested all that money?"

Bart sighed. How many questions did Pappy have? "Then we sell it and go back to what we know."

"Why, Bart? Why do you wanna give up somethin' you've done your whole life?"

"Things are changin', Pappy. More and more places are gettin' rid of gamblin'. Makin' it illegal to play poker. Pretty soon there won't be no place left. We gotta figure out a way to make a livin' before all that disappears. With a ranch we got somethin' to leave to the kids. Somethin' that won't get 'em thrown in jail all the time."

"Uh-huh. And whatta ya gonna do with that little one out lookin' at the puppies? All he wants to do is play poker, just like his daddy."

That was the most difficult question of them all, and the one that Bart really didn't have an answer for. "I . . . don't know, Pa. That's the one that's got me stumped. But I'll figure somethin' out."

A whimpering sound was heard at the back door, and it soon became clear what was causing it. Beauregard had arrived carrying a puppy almost as big as he was. The puppies eyes were barely open, and the boy did his best to hold onto the dog. "Look, Daddy!" the child cried joyously. "Uncle Ben says I can have Miss Betty Lou! Isn't she pretty?" Ben was following his great-nephew, trying to retrieve the dog.

"I said when she's old enough, Beauregard. She's not weaned yet, she's still too young to leave her mama."

Bart was trying not to laugh. "Beau, give Miss Betty Lou back to Uncle Ben."

"Why, Daddy? Uncle Ben said I could have her."

"Beauregard!" Ben finally got Beau's attention. "I said you could have her when she's old enough. She's too young to go home with you. She still needs her mommy."

"Oh." He looked up at his father. "Can we come back and get her when she's old enough?"

Bart chuckled and nodded his head. "I think we can."

"When will that be?"

Bart squatted down to Beauregard's eye-level. "In about a month, I'd say from the looks of her. Now, why don't you take Miss Betty Lou back out to the barn, and her mommy? She looks like she's hungry."

"Bentley . . . we need to talk about you and Baton Rouge."

Ben looked somewhat chagrinned at not having discussed his decision with Beauregard before this. "We can do that later this afternoon, Beau, if that's alright with you."

Pappy nodded before asking, "Anything else you haven't told me yet?"

Bentley didn't answer, as little Beau had hurried out the back door, dragging the puppy with him. "Wait up, Beauregard!"

Bart and Pappy sat in relative silence for a few minutes before the younger Maverick asked, "You have any more objections to our horse ranch?"

"Small ones, boy, but it sounds like you've thought everything through. I guess I really don't have any right to criticize what you and your brother do at this point in your lives. Any more than I can stop Ben from movin' to Louisiana."

"We're pretty set on doin' this, Pappy. Me and Bret's got a lot of little ones that need room to grow. And we wanna see if we can make it work."

"How's them ladies of yours feel about all this?"

"They're all for it. It gives them room to spread out, too."

"Alright. I'll quit givin' you both a bad time, but you have to promise me somethin'."

"What's that, Pappy?"

"That you'll start includin' me in these plans of yours."

"Yes, sir. I can do that."

"Good. Now whatta you gonna do with a puppy?"

tbc


	17. Epilogue

Epilogue

True to his word, Bart took Beauregard back to Uncle Bentley's house to pick up Miss Betty Lou when she was old enough to leave her mama. Bart and Bret, now known as the B Bar M Ranch, began negotiations in earnest with Uncle Bentley to buy his property.

The original Maverick brothers finally sat down and had a good, long talk. Beauregard wasn't thrilled that Bentley was moving to Baton Rouge to live with his son and family, but he sure understood it. It would be more than a year before that happened, just enough time for Bart and Doralice to have their fifth and final child, Lily.

Bret and Ginny moved back to Little Bend after the untimely deaths of their best friends in Claytonville. They brought with them their first child, daughter Grace. There were more adventures, along with twists and turns, as the Maverick family continued to expand, one way or another. The true story of the Mavericks had just begun.

The End


End file.
